


Beginner's Luck

by lesbomancy



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-30 00:44:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12642666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbomancy/pseuds/lesbomancy
Summary: Cyra Harroun, Hunter, takes out a threat to the Last City from a distance with "help" from her mentor.





	Beginner's Luck

"You can't make it. My record, as in 'Solar System record' is two point eight thousand meters. Bullet traveled for nearly twelve seconds before it splattered that punk's juice on the wall behind him. You can't make this shot. You're not better than I am."

"I can do it," she said quietly.

The grizzled man with a full head and face of bushy gray hair was Anatoli - her 'mentor.' He took her under his wing when he deemed her useless. He knew Earth well, better than most Hunters, and spoke of a time before the Last City even existed. Beyond implying he was as old as Zavala, Shaxx, or even the Iron Lords, he never said anything about himself. He pushed her hard, he rode her until she was ash and reformed her like a clay model depending on what he needed.

He was an asshole, an abuser, but Cyra was meek enough to never raise her concerns about it. She kept her head low and accepted his mentorship, his protection, to avoid being seen as the disappointment she was.

"Bullshit. You're a baby. A kinder-Guardian. Think about it, give me the rifle, and I might make the shot. Unless you want to chance him leaving. Letting down the Vanguard, letting your target escape. Failing."

Cyra's hand flexed around the grip of her rifle. The computerized scope did a lot of the work for her, her eyepiece displaying the mathematical ups and downs of the shot. She had to aim significantly higher and to the right, accounting for curvature. Wait for a neutral point so that the bullet wouldn't be swayed by wind. 2.9 thousand meters to the target, one marked by the Vanguard as high-risk. Anatoli's voice was rising in anger as she focused, gloved finger caressing the trigger guard as she weighed her options.

"No shame in giving up, pup. Not every young wolf bags their first deer. Give me the rifle."

She began to control her breathing, regulating her heartbeat, and finding herself as quiet and serene as the snowcapped hills around her. The forests and mountains of Old Russia were bitter in their cold, though on certain days they were so quiet it was as if they were a space where time didn't pass normally. It felt like that now, aside from Anatoli's constant bitter jabs. It felt like an absence of everything. She felt like nothing.

"We're going to miss our window, you little shit. Give me the fucking gun before you choke."

Mapping the trajectory of the bullet, she knew that she could make the shot. She felt as if she was the bullet. As if she was riding the air like a bird, burrowing into the skull of a murdering ex-City citizen intent on sabotaging the Wall. She felt the warm splash of blood, the deafening crack of shattering bone and the moistened drilling of the bullet into gray matter. Her finger went from the trigger guard to the trigger and slowly began to squeeze. The wind had stopped, giving Cyra the break she was looking for.

The snow and air that pushed up around her and Anatoli were an afterthought as the bullet escaped the fire of the muzzle flash and Cyra kept her eye through the scope. Anatoli cursed loudly and brought up his binoculars to watch as well. The human jerked harshly to the left, a halo of blood escaping from the side of his head and onto the wall behind him. So much for a disgruntled saboteur. Cyra felt the rough hand of her mentor on her shoulder grasping hard enough for bile to build up in her throat. She smiled all the same, pressing her forehead against the scope of her rifle.

"If you missed that, we would've been fucked. Can you think of the consequences for once in your miserable life?" Despite the tone, Anatoli still seemed elated, almost shocked, as he stared through the binoculars at the dead body. "At least the Vanguard will be happy. Maybe not that he's dead - we can say he shot first."

Putting his binoculars away, Anatoli got up to his knees and began packing up the sniper's roost that they had built around them, discarding a homemade ghillie suit from his back. Stubby, cracked fingernails scratched at his gray beard and he clapped his hand on Cyra's back again.

"Come on, pup. I need a shower and something warm to bend over a mattress."

Every time Cyra racked up a kill she felt as numb and weightless as when she envisioned the bullet's course. She swallowed hard, her mouth painfully dry and got up to begin packing up. Snapping the bipod down on her rifle, she glanced to Anatoli with a weak grin.

He noticed it immediately. The sight of Cyra smiling was odd, disconcerting almost, so he grunted for her to speak, to explain herself. He hated it when others were happy.

"I beat your record, boss."

She inhaled sharply, discarding her own ghillie suit. Anatoli was cursing in a language that Cyra didn't know. Something guttural and Slavic.

"Beginner's luck," he mused. "I'll get next one at three thousand meters. Show you how a real Hunter is."


End file.
